Trouble
by HappierThanMost
Summary: Soda's middle name is Trouble, but now with nobody to answer to, he feels like it might just swallow him up.


_This takes place very soon after the accident, before Darry has a handle on things. I was just missing the younger Soda today..._

 **TROUBLE**

Some days don't you just feel like you can't help inviting trouble in? When the blood in your veins is pumping more prickly than usual. When your muscles are loose but at the same time ready to be called on, and the tiniest nerves in your skin are all aware and stand to attention. I started my day more restless than usual. The minute Darry threw Pony's shoe across our room and against the headboard for our wakeup call, I just knew I'd end up here.

"Face the wall and place your hands up and flat against it Mr. Curtis," Vice Principal Calloway drones, and I'm already in the familiar position, looking like I'm waiting for some cop to pat me down when I'm really waiting for the paddle. Poor Mrs. Calloway is older than dirt, and I almost feel sorry for her how light she brings it down on me. Looking behind my shoulder briefly, I have to stop myself from giving her a lesson on her weak technique, some pointers like choke up a little bit on the handle and start your swing further back, but instead I start counting the five strikes and my blessings that the Principal is out today so I'm not getting my ass lit by Mr. Lawson, the Sultan of Swat, the Great Bambino, the Big Bam, the Babe Ruth of…well you catch my drift.

It's Steve who should be in here. He's the one who started it all with his smart ass remarks in the middle of History, and that ended up fueling Chet Stanwick's fire and his trash talk, which made me kick the back of Chet's chair. Good and hard. Enough to shove his seat forward and hopefully give him a little whiplash. Of course it was only me getting warnings right and left from Ms. Lance, but once I get to glaring I can't ever stop.

So Chet and I were tearing each other apart with our death threat stares, and Ms. Lance called me to the front, I guess hoping to break it up. "Sodapop, you can come work up here with me," she said looking me up and down over glasses that were way too big for her face. She handed me the chalk and wanted me to write out her points she was giving about the Civil War on the blackboard, for people to copy down in their notes. I'm sure all those nerds sitting in front were foaming at the mouth for this dumb job, but I was chosen and really didn't mind.

"Yes, ma'am," I accepted the chalk and the task with a big smile, still able to mind all those respectful manners that my parents stuffed and twisted way down deep inside of me my entire growing up.

Really concentrating, I worked at keeping my lines straight, which is much harder than it looks, and I was actually getting into it, busy writing out _B_ _rothers fought against brothers and fathers against sons_ , when I heard from the back of the room,"Curtis writes like someone gave a piece of chalk to an idiot monkey." Any other day I'd laugh right along with everybody, cause it sure did look like chicken scratch up there, but it was Stanwick who said it, and like I mentioned before, I woke up this way.

I turned around and let the blackboard eraser fly, with a pitch so hard and fast it would've made Darry Curtis proud, if I wasn't in trouble that is. Chet took the hit and ran with it, cupped his hands over his eye, acted all hurt, making Ms. Lance fawn all over him, meanwhile just grinning at me whenever she wasn't looking. "Sodapop Curtis," and all she had to do was point at the door for me to know where I was headed. A chorus of "ooh"s and "you're gonna get it"s followed me out.

And here I am, lucking out that it's Old Lady Calloway who's giving me my licks today. Only problem is her office has a big glass window, and I pray to God nobody walks by and sees me taking it from this tiny, seventy year old woman. I bite back a chuckle and shake my head just thinking how it must look, and silently beg her to hurry the hell up while my fingers wiggle a little against the wall. But she does everything slow as molasses.

When I've counted off five, I turn to face her, rub my backside and give her a wince and an "ouch" just to make her feel like she did her job real good, then I wait for the note they write home for parents to sign, the ones I've been getting Pony to forge for years, after I finally wised up. Dad or even Mom would give it to me ten times worse when I brought home one of those Godforsaken notes.

I'm still holding out my hand for it as Mrs. Calloway flips through my file. "Sodapop," she says real sweet, reminding me a little of Mrs. Claus, "you've been showing up here a little too often and your grades are really slipping." My hand drops to my side and I wonder where she's going with this. "I think a phone call is in order."

I know it sounds bad, but I go for the sympathy vote. I never like to, cause I never like to say out loud that they're even gone, but sometimes you gotta use your parents' death for gain. And as shitty as it makes me feel I say, "Don't bother callin' Mrs. Calloway," and I put on my sad eyes, but I soon realize they weren't necessary to put on, cause they come pretty natural. "My parents passed over Christmas break. There's really nobody to call, but I'll try and be better."

Mrs. Calloway takes off her cat eye glasses, letting them hang from the silver chain around her neck, and studies me, giving me a grandmother's smile and I know I've got her wrapped around my finger. "I know Sodapop. I'm well aware of your loss and I'm so very sorry." Her voice is almost too kind, too warm for my comfort, cause I feel a little ache in my chest starting to bloom. I look down at my feet and put my hands in my pockets, contrite.

"I understand your brother Darrel is your guardian? You can tell him to expect a call from me this evening."

I must be standing here awhile just staring back at her, cause she interrupts my thoughts with "Sodapop, Soda? Honey you can return to your class."

So now I'm in English, thinking how tonight's going to play out. I'm not afraid of Darry. It's not like he's Dad and with me, he hasn't really tried to be. He'll probably just tell me to knock it off, get my act together, maybe give me a rough shove for good measure and we'll move on, but I do feel guilty throwing something else on his plate that he doesn't deserve. Maybe this situation tonight might be the lead-in to that conversation I've been too scared to have with my older brother. That I want out of this hellhole. That it's obvious I'm wasting my days here when I could be working and bringing in some dough. Instead of sitting around getting humiliated with Ds, Fs, and public paddlings.

"What is that noise?" Mrs. Sparrow asks as she looks around the room, her face pinched in annoyance. I look around with the other students, finding nothing, hearing nothing. "What is that incessant knocking?"

"That's Sodapop's knee hitting his desk," Janie Rattner, the know it all announces and I realize my bouncing leg is the culprit. I clamp my hand down on my knee to keep it from bobbing. Smiling my sorries to the staring class and up at Mrs. Sparrow, "I didn't realize," I explain and I slump down in my chair, my knee bouncing even faster now, but I make sure to keep it from knocking my wooden cage I have to sit in for this agonizing period. I spend the rest of the hour watching Two-Bit doodle away on his desk, and wonder if the naked chick he's drawing is supposed to be Mrs. Sparrow.

Good thing I'm able to let out a lot of my pent up energy in gym. And today's dodgeball game is nice and violent, the best we've had in a long time. Everyone can tell when Dally's toeing the line of failing out, cause that's when he starts showing up in a class here and there. And you know it's really gotten bad when he comes to gym and actually dresses out in these dumb WRHS athletic department t-shirts and shorts they make us wear. Even Dally can't make this look tuff. But he gives it a go by rolling his sleeves up above his shoulders and eying everybody down, like he'd just as soon shoot 'em than look at 'em.

Coach Al's whistle cuts the air and all hell breaks loose across the gym floor, sneakers squeaking, balls like bullets slapping their sting against skin, bodies diving and then down for the count. It's the one hour in school I come alive, cause basically, it's our chance to rumble on school grounds and the teachers allow it, even encourage it. Dallas may not like gym, but he sure can't stand losing, so he's drilling Socs alongside me, getting in a few elbow jabs to some ribs, yelling at me to "watch the fuck out Soda" when I get in his way. It's chaos and comedy and a fight to the death. I love the shit out of it. Even when it spills over into the locker room and Coach has to come pull guys off each other, and starts hounding Dally for spitting at Adderson as he's headed into the showers.

* * *

"What's eatin' at you?" Steve asks me after school as we're driving to pick up Ponyboy from the Junior High. I shrug at his question cause I really don't know the answer.

"Nothin's wrong," I tell him and blow a bubble then suck it back in. "Why?" The dead winter scenery blurs and runs together as the world races past too fast.

"Cause it looks like you're about to open that car door and jump," Steve says before he jams the last bite of his Hostess cupcake down his throat.

And I let a little low laugh escape and I'm watching my finger trace the door handle. But don't say anything else. Steve can tell I'm off today and he puts on the radio. I don't know how to explain how I feel. It ain't like it's unusual for me to be hit with an impulsive urge to be reckless. Today just feels different.

"So you gonna try and intercept that phone call tonight?" Steve asks, all filled in on my meeting with Calloway.

"Nah," I answer as we're pulling up to Pony on the curb. "Darry probably won't care." And I realize what's missing.

"Darry won't care about what?" Pony asks as he crawls behind my seat into the back, his backpack getting stuck on the headrest. I unhook him and tell him it's nothing.

"None of your business Nosy," Steve's already launching in on Pony who's giving it right back, their voices fading into white noise while I'm lost in those dark little corners of my mind. Why in the world would I be missing my Dad right now? If this was just a month ago, I'd be shaking in my boots having to go face him after a note or a phone call. But today he's lying under six feet of frozen ground, and isn't there some freedom in that? I can get away with reckless. I roll down the window and let the cold air hit me, whistle at some girls, and laugh with Pony and Steve to remind myself I exist.

* * *

I'm elbow deep in dish soap and it's hard cleaning chicken grease off this frying pan. Pony's reading at the table and must really be into it, cause he jumps when the phone rings and I laugh at him. Darry takes it and I can tell it's the call, cause he's putting on his fake adult voice. "Oh really" and "yes ma'am" is pretty much all he says.

"Wonder who that is?" Pony questions, licking his finger and turning through a whole bunch of pages to find something, then scribbles some answer on his worksheet.

I dry my hands and tell him, "I think it's Mrs. Calloway from school. She told me she'd call."

Pony sets his pencil down and looks up. "Uh oh, what'd you do this time?" Before I can answer Darry enters, clears his throat and taps his fingers hard against Pony's shoulder and tells him to leave the room.

Of course Pony never takes too kindly to that. He's often driven out of rooms so Darry and I can talk privately. He takes it real personal.

"Go," Darry says harshly when he's taking too long to gather his books. Pony picks up the pace but shoots Darry a glare.

With Pony out of his hair, Darry sits at the table and drags his hands down his face with an exhausted breath. I answer with a sigh of my own and sit right across from him. "Sorry Darry, it won't happen again." So much for the dropping out conversation. He looks way too worn down to bring that up tonight.

"You've been sent to the office three times this week alone Soda. And your highest grade is a C right now?" He's shaking his head at me and I hate how young and dumb I feel in front of him right now. But I've always tried not to compare myself to him. My life would be a great disappointment if I let myself. He pauses a minute then looks down the hallway at Pony's closed door. "This ain't role model behavior ya know." I nod in guilt and agreement.

Darry's voice is low but calm. "Just don't tell him any of this and pull it together Dumbass. I've got Social Services breathing down my neck, about a thousand pulled muscles in my back and my hands are full with Ponyboy. I ain't got no time at all to keep you on the straight and narrow." And that's it. He closes his eyes and rolls his head around his neck real slow and I hear all the pops, then he stands up and asks if I'm still going out tonight but doesn't wait for my answer. He's already pounding on Pony's door. "Pony I want to see that homework when you're done and it better be before ten cause that's lights out for you."

"Dammit Darry hold your horses," Pony fires back and away they go.

I sit alone at the table, in the middle of all this freedom and wonder how I'd react, what it might feel like if Darry came down on me like he does Ponyboy. And it's almost like something inside of me is spinning off the tracks and could lose control at any moment. Too many impulses wait to drag me away with them, but I'm frozen, cause who's going to stop me once I start?

Darry passes by and sees me still there, looks at me weird. "What's wrong?" he asks and I want to tell him everything's wrong, but I shake it off and force a smile at him.

"Nothin'," I say instead. "Just gonna head out and look for some trouble I guess."

 **A/N:** Outsiders by SE Hinton

 _Just a little midweek one shot. Thank you so much for reading me. I appreciate every single view, every favorite and each encouraging word._


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